


A Mohel's Lament

by jeeno2, Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Series: Tikkun Olam [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Circumcision, Crack, Donuts, F/M, Jewish Character, Oral Sex, currency defacement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: Ben Solo is a bitter young man trying an unconventional method for regrowing what was taken from him when he was eight days old. Rey Niima is a young, attractive urologist with strong opinions on the matter. Hijinks ensue





	A Mohel's Lament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crossingwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/gifts).

> Celia we love you.
> 
> That's really the only explanation we have for this story.

_ even if it’s gone _

_ i say: don’t tape the pennies. _

_ skin can’t take the stress  _

“The Mohel’s Lament” ~ W.D. Lee; 2004

* * *

Ben Solo had a number of ready excuses for why he couldn’t go to parties. 

He had an aged and very needy cat, who purportedly required an unlikely number of kidney surgeries and Ben’s close supervision. So Poe suggested that the party be held in the community room of Ben’s apartment complex.

Ben hated everyone else in their department. So Poe promised to only invite guests who had made the smart decision to get real jobs outside of the law school. 

Ben didn’t like American beer. So Poe went to no little expense in purchasing a full case of very highbrow Belgian ale, set aside with a pink sticky note that proclaimed it to be “Just for Ben.” 

Ben was forced to be at this party, even if his heart was upstairs, with his (perfectly healthy) cat and his wide selection of hops-forward beers and his quiet apartment. But Poe couldn’t force him to enjoy being there.

Ben gulped his beer and glared at people who drew too close to him on their way to the keg, holding up the wall and counting the minutes until he had calculated that it would be socially acceptable for him to call it a night.

Poe sidled up for the third time that evening, looking flushed and pleased with himself. 

“Aren’t you glad you finally came out to one of these things?” Poe demanded, scanning the room and not waiting for Ben’s noncommittal answer. “Your mom asks me all the time if you’re getting out, meeting people.”

Ben suppressed a snarl at the reminder that Poe called his mother more frequently than Ben did and covered it in a draught of his bottle. 

“She worries that you’re going feral, you know,” Poe continued. “I promised to make sure you were meeting nice people. You know. Guys. Girls. Whatever.” 

The neck of the bottle in Ben’s hand trembled. It was Leia’s  _ fault _ that Ben wasn’t seeing girls, or guys, or anyone at all. At that reminder, Ben shifted uncomfortably in his position against the wall and drained his beer to give himself a reason to walk away and covertly adjust things. 

Ben’s beer was in the kitchenette fridge, on the opposite end of the party from the keg and handles of more popular beverages. He retrieved the second-to-last bottle in the six-pack and popped it, wondering if he would be able to smuggle the last one out when he left. In six and a half minutes, by his count. He’d hate to see it wasted down the gullets of the pack of bro-ish finance lawyers presently draining the front keg. When Ben concluded that carrying sealed alcohol from Poe’s party would be a dick move, even for him, he moved to close the door of the refrigerator.

“Oi, hold on,” said a mildly British voice as a slender hand caught over his own. “Is that Breckel?” 

Ben grunted in agreement, freezing when he looked down into the wide, hazel eyes of a stranger. It was a girl. A woman. Nobody they’d gone to law school with. 

“Mind if I take the last one then? Wouldn’t feed that shite up in the front to my worst enemy, pardon my French,” the woman said brightly, ducking below Ben’s arm. Without awaiting his permission, she retrieved the last bottle, slammed it against the edge of the kitchen counter to pop the lid, and clinked it against Ben’s own in triumph. 

“Cheers!” she said, retreating from the kitchen with her open bottle and a small wave. 

Ben adjusted himself again. Fuck. 

He stood by the sink, transfixed by her retreating form, so long that Poe found him there, still staring at her from two rooms away.

“Oh, Rey! Did you two meet?” Poe asked, making an expression like a kitten sighting a winged insect. 

“She took the last beer,” Ben said, keeping his voice neutral. Fuck. He should just leave now. Even if he still had two minutes on his watch timer. He had another timer due to go off in fifteen minutes, but he thought that for  _ important reasons _ he would need to attend to that matter sooner than scheduled. 

“She’s a great girl. She joined my softball team last month, and she doesn’t quite get the rules but she hits that ball like a major leaguer. Love a chick with muscles, right?” 

Ben grimaced. Of course Poe was already dating her. Not that that mattered, since Ben had been fully prepared to leave without even getting her name. 

“Are you trying to impress me with your taste in women?” he snapped. 

Poe’s eyebrows lifted in momentary triumph. He prized Ben’s beer out of his resisting fist as Ben’s jaw dropped further in outrage. 

“As a matter of fact, she was my  _ boyfriend _ ’s college roommate,” Poe murmured, taking a deep swig of Ben’s beer. “Jesus, Ben, I introduced you to him half an hour ago, have you listened to a word I’ve said?”

Ben snatched his beer back from Poe’s hand. 

“Doesn’t sound like we have anything in common,” he said sulkily. It wasn’t like he was ready to date, anyway. It couldn’t really go anywhere. A project for a future time. Six to ten months, if the Internet could be believed. Then he’d be ready to reinvent himself. New friends, new family, goodbye Leia, goodbye Poe. 

Poe shrugged. “Your loss if you don’t even try, dude. She’s single, she’s nice, and she’s possibly even smarter than you. Like, she’s a urologist, so if you get all pissy like you do, she’s got the edge in metaphorical combat, right?”

Ben paused with his bottle halfway to his mouth. 

“She’s a urologist?” he said slowly.

Poe waggled his eyebrows. “I know, right? Love a girl who knows her way around a…”

But Ben was already walking into the other room. 

* * *

Rey was used to guys hitting on her at parties. 

Getting hit on at parties wasn’t something she usually enjoyed. But it didn’t matter much anyway, because once she told them what she did for a living, guys usually backed off pretty quickly. Most of them seemed to assume she got paid to touch penises all day long--which was really only partially true. 

Either way, in her experience not a lot of men could handle it.

So when Rey saw Ben Solo making his way towards her a few minutes after she took the last fancy beer she was a little surprised. Then it occurred to her he probably hadn’t heard what she did for a living yet. Which was fine with her. Finn had said Ben Solo was built like a brick house but she hadn’t really  _ believed _ it until she’d shown up here tonight and came face to face with the most ridiculous chest, and biceps, she’d ever seen. 

Rey’d had a hard time looking at anything else  _ but _ him and his stupid chest and even stupider arms ever since.

Ben Solo didn’t seem like the kind of guy who usually chatted girls up at parties, based on their brief, awkward conversation earlier tonight. Then again, her roommate Rose always did say it was the quiet, awkward guys who surprised you.

“Hi.” Ben nodded curtly at the beer in her hands. “Did you like the expensive beer?”

In truth, Rey wasn’t much for chatting people up at parties either. But there was something about this guy that made her want to try, just this once. He was completely guileless, and almost endearingly clueless about social niceties. 

Rey smiled up at him and inclined her head towards the bottle in her hands.

“I did enjoy it,” she said. She took another swig. “I  _ am _ enjoying it.”

“Poe told me you’re a urologist.”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. 

So he  _ did _ know. 

She swallowed her mouthful of beer and nodded. “I am.”

“I have questions.” He stared at her, with those dark brown eyes of his that reminded Rey of molten chocolate. The intense look he was giving her was more than a little unnerving. She started to fidget a little almost without realizing she was doing it. “About a... situation.”

“A situation?”

Ben Solo nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

Rey waited for him to continue. When he didn’t she prompted: “What… kind of situation?” Though in truth, Rey had a pretty good idea where this was headed. She’d only been a practicing physician for a few years but in her experience, people didn’t just go up to urologists at parties and cryptically tell them  _ I have questions  _ unless they were looking for some very specific, very free medical advice about their own very specific dicks. Which she was usually almost certainly unqualified to give, given that her specialty was pediatrics. Unless Ben was still a bed-wetter or had undescended testes (she eyed those broad shoulders again) she probably was not the right person to talk to. 

Either way though, if Ben Solo was looking for free medical dick advice, Rey wanted to hear that directly from him.

“It’s…” Ben trailed off, and bit his lip, and… Jesus Christ, she should not be staring at those ridiculously plump lips right now, and imagining what it would feel like to bite them herself. But god, they just looked  _ so _ soft. And it had been years since she’d had the opportunity to bite anyone’s lips but her own. “It’s a sensitive matter.”

Rey nodded. “I gathered. Seeing as you accused me of being a urologist and then said you had questions.”

Ben swallowed and looked down at his shoes. “Right.” 

“So,” Rey continued. She was tempted to reach out and squeeze his right bicep. See if it was as solid as it looked. She resisted, but it was difficult. She wondered how many hours he spent at the gym every week. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?”

Ben Solo frowned at her. “I don’t think you’d be able to guess this one.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Then out with it. What is it?”

Ben leaned forward, and, in her ear, whispered: “I’m trying to regrow my foreskin.”

Rey nearly dropped her beer in shock.

She pulled back from him, stunned. “I’m sorry.  _ What _ ?” 

“My parents circumcised me before I was old enough to have a say in the matter,” he went on. “They  _ forced _ me to be Jewish without my consent. So a few weeks ago I went online, and…”

Oh, no.

Suddenly, Rey knew exactly where this was going.

“You found an  _ Intactivists _ web site,” Rey finished for him. “Didn’t you? Oh, Ben.”

He nodded. “Per the advice I found there, I’m taping pennies to the end of my dick. In the hopes that that will stretch out what’s been left behind a little more each day. The goal is that in six months, my foreskin will have grown back. And I will be whole-- _ intact _ \--again.” He blinked at her, then leaned closer. “Only I don’t know if it’s working or not. If I’m doing it right.” 

Rey didn’t know what to say to any of this. In med school she’d heard urban legends of circumcised men who’d gone to various desperate lengths in an attempt to regrow their foreskins. But she never thought they really existed, and she  _ certainly  _ never thought one of them would find her at a party and ask her if he was doing it right.

She was at a total loss for words.

“Can you help?” he pleaded. 

* * *

Ben squinted up at the cheerful, red brick townhouse with the vaguely sinister defensive line of garden gnomes ringing the postage-stamp front yard. It did not look like a medical office. He double-checked the address in his phone, but it was correct. 

Rey—Dr. Niima, he guessed he ought to say—had tried her best to put him off. He understood that it wasn’t her specialty. He understood that his problem didn’t come up (no pun, he thought grimly) very often. Some vast proportion of men seemed to care not at all that their parents had made permanent decisions for them. Decisions that ruined their sex lives before they ever had a chance to get started.

He’s 35. His friends are married or coupled up and doubtless having a lot of very good sex. Sex denied to Ben Solo. Well, not the sex. It’s not that hard to find the sex; he spends a lot of time in the gym and he has correct opinions about science fiction movies and he’s not hung up on his exes. It’s hard to find sex he wants to have. Something always felt missing.

It took a long time and a lot of introspection for Ben to put his finger on it. It really took his whole hand. What didn’t he have, that other people had? Why did he never want to stay over, cook breakfast, have round two in the shower? Why did he leave every date feeling less connected than when he began it? Why was he always alone?

It was obvious, really. It was his foreskin. 

After a few minutes of staring down the gnomes, Ben shrugged and rang the doorbell. If a stranger answered, it wasn’t like he had to announce that he was seeking to reverse his circumcision.

After a moment, he heard bare feet slapping down the interior stairs, and Dr. Niima opened the door. She looked even less like a doctor than she had the previous evening; she was wearing a little floral sundress with yellow blossoms on a field of orange, and her hair swung loose and shining around her face. Her arms and legs were bare and muscular. 

Ben covertly adjusted himself when she turned to motion him up the stairs after her; he wasn’t wearing the pennies at her request, but the faintest glimpse of upper thigh he got as he climbed after her made things awkward in his XL boxer briefs for another reason. 

Ben had not been able to secure an appointment with her, per se. After ceding the remainder of his beer to her, the most he’d been able to get her to commit to was her “unprofessional opinion,” whatever that meant. 

At 10 a.m. the next morning. In a building that was obviously her home. 

The second floor was an open concept, and the bright September sun streamed through on both sides of the room. Rey’s home was clean but cluttered with knick knacks: postcards stuck out of mirror frames, flowerpots clustered around the kitchen window, and nearly the full contents of her fridge appeared to be crowding the kitchen island. 

Rey gestured at a large pink paper box in the center.

“I got donuts this morning, but then I realized that you look like a bloke who doesn’t eat so many donuts. So there’s other stuff if you’re picky.” She waved at some sliced bread and jars of jam. 

It was true that no donut had passed his lips in many a year, but Ben was suddenly determined that Rey not think he was picky, whatever that meant. So he flipped it open and saw the wide variety of frostings, sprinkles, and jams on offer. He grabbed the plainest one and backed away. Rey reached in after him and went for one with pink frosting, miniature marshmallows, and slivered Jordan almonds. Then stuffed half in her mouth in one bite.

“Mmmm, so good,” she moaned. 

Ben swallowed hard. 

Was there a rule against dating someone who had given him medical advice? When did it kick in? Maybe it only applied while she gave him medical advice? Like, she could give him medical advice, and then they could agree that that was over, and then it could be a date? That sounded right. A matter of contract law. 

“I, uh, thank you for breakfast,” he said, wondering how he would ever bring the conversation around to his penis again, so that they could get the medical bit over with. 

Rey smiled up at him in response, and he felt a little starstruck. 

“How is it?” she asked him, pointing at the large, round donut in his hand. 

He hadn’t been planning on really eating it, but under her steady inspection, he took the largest bite he could, following her example. Raspberry jam exploded over his lips and chin. He swallowed in surprise, but couldn’t stop half the filling from dribbling down his face. 

Ben choked, and at once Rey had a hand on his chest, ready to give him the Heimlich if necessary. 

After a long minute of coughing and sputtering, Ben managed to get himself under control. He stowed the dangerous pastry away, questioning why was his life. 

“Oh my Lord, you look like the head of Holofernes,” Rey gasped. She was trembling with the effort of suppressing her laughter. When Ben finally allowed her a rueful smile, she let go, howling with mirth.

“You know how dangerous Jewish women can be then,” he managed to joke. Rey grabbed a paper towel, wet it in the sink, and reached up to wipe his face. She seemed to cup it just a second longer than she had to as she dabbed at him.

“I don’t know, really,” she sighed. “but I guess that metaphor was a little on the nose.” 

Ben sighed too. 

He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt where it was damp with water and jam. 

The silence between them grew. 

“I guess you’re still interested in showing me your kit then?” she ultimately asked, nodding significantly at his waistline.

“Well, I…” Ben said, now hesitant. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

Rey walked back to the sink and began washing her hands. 

“Occupational hazard,” she said absently. 

Ben chewed on the inside of his cheek. He should really have clarified the rules on dating someone who had given him medical advice before coming over. What if it was like immigration law, and there was a three-year bar? A ten-year bar? He’d be fixed and ready to date within the year, and it hardly seemed worth it to preclude himself from ever asking Rey to eat a meal with less refined sugar and explosive jam in it just so that he could get some constructive feedback. There were other urologists. Nobody else that he wanted to look at his penis. And he found the concept of Rey looking at his penis unexpectedly pleasing. 

Still, if things didn’t get fixed now, where there would never be a later. And there had to be a loophole, somehow, in whatever rule there was against dating a doctor. He was a lawyer. A professor of laws, even. He could find the loophole. 

“Okay, could you just tell me whether it’s fixable? Whether it looks like it’s…working?” Ben asked, fiddling with the top button of his jeans. 

Rey dried her hands on a little floral tea towel and turned to brace herself against the sink. She propped herself up on her elbows and nodded. 

“Alright, then,” Ben said, trying to keep a shake out of his voice. God, he was sure he had to be half hard. But that was normal, right? Surely he wasn’t the first person to get a semi when talking to her. Especially when receiving her… “unprofessional advice.” 

He fumbled open the button on his jeans, let them drop to his ankles. He gathered every ounce of courage and shoved his boxers after them.

Fuck, it was more than half hard. Maybe closer to three quarters. He closed his eyes and tried to recite the order of legal citation signals, but gave up the effort when he heard Rey shuffling towards him. He heard her footsteps carry her to his right, then his left. Then they stopped in front of him, and oh god, was she kneeling? Was that the sound of her bare knees on the tile of her kitchen? 

He screwed his eyes even closer shut. 

“Alright, do you want to know what I really think?” Rey’s voice said, from perilously near his midsection. 

It took him longer than he would have thought to nod his agreement. 

* * *

Rey watched as Ben’s eyes fluttered closed, trying hard not to laugh at how predictably he was  _ reacting _ to all of this.

She reached forward and cradled his already half-hard cock gingerly in both hands, pretending to examine it. She didn’t miss the sharp inhalation of breath that followed, or how the second her hands came in contact with him his cock immediately got even harder.

She leaned forward until her face was less than an inch away from his crotch.

“I think your penis is totally normal,” she said. She was so close she was pretty sure he could feel each one of her words as soft little exhalations right on his dick. Which was exactly what the plan had been when she came up with it an hour ago. “It’s fine, Ben. I mean--it’s  _ more _ than fine.”

Ben opened his eyes at that, clearly not expecting her to say any of this. He stared down at her--at the way she was kneeling between his legs; at the way she was holding his enormous cock in her hands--and bit his lip.

“What… what do you mean,  _ it’s fine _ ?” he stammered.

She shrugged, not letting him go. “I mean exactly what I said. What part of  _ it’s fine _ do you not understand? Your penis is nice and big and healthy.” 

He frowned at her. “But I don’t have any  _ foreskin,” _ he said, sounding rather like a child who is upset over not being allowed any ice cream after school. “I am  _ deformed. _ Everything that’s gone wrong in my dating and my sex life can be attributed more or less solely to--”

As Ben rambled, Rey--more than ready to get this ridiculous discussion over with--leaned forward and pressed a gentle, feather-light kiss to the underside of his cock. Ben made a strange but entirely expected gurgling noise as the rest of what he’d been about to say died in his throat.

“You are  _ not _ deformed,” Rey corrected him. “I may not be an expert on foreskin regrowth but I  _ am _ an expert on what constitutes normal in the realm of male genitalia.” Her tongue darted out of her mouth and she traced the length of his cock, slowly and deliberately. Ben’s eyes looked about ready to pop. “I see penises every day, Ben. You have an absolutely wonderful dick. One of the very finest I’ve ever seen.”

“But--”

Rey opened her mouth and let him slip between her lips, enjoying the feel of his silky soft skin as the tip of him traced along her gums and cheeks. Ben was already so excited by what she was doing to him she could taste the dribble of pre-cum leaking out of him, a salty bitter tang on her tongue. He was still trying to correct her, trying to mansplain to a fucking  _ urologist _ why his perfect, shapely dick was deformed and wrong. But the longer he was in her mouth the harder he grew, and the more she licked and sucked him the harder it was for him to get out any words at all.

When his breathing started to get too hard and too fast Rey pulled off of him with a loud, wet  _ pop. _

“Foreskin is not necessary for dating, or for sexual pleasure.” She ran the tip of her tongue along him again, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to be able to handle it for much longer. “If your sex life is bad you’re probably just fucking the wrong people. Additionally, a  _ lack  _ of foreskin can increase the risk of male UTIs."

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

On impulse, and without another word, Rey grabbed one of the uneaten donuts from the coffee table and slid it onto Ben’s now rock-hard penis. A little chocolate glazed number; the one she’d planned to eat at some point later today anyway, even if not quite like this. If Ben was confused about why she just treated his dick like a ring toss at a county fair he showed no sign of it. On the contrary; the look on his face was worshipful and dazed, suggesting that at this point he’d let her do just about anything she wanted to him. If she wanted to eat him down with chocolate frosting, he’d allow it. 

“Rey--” he groaned.

She patted the donut on his cock, then cupped his balls.

“Men with foreskins can’t have blowjobs while they’re wearing donuts, Ben.” She licked the tip of his dick again, then took a nibble from the donut. Delicious. “All that sugar. Terrible for the urinary tract. And it would get trapped in your foreskin if you had any.”

She rocked back on her heels then, looking up at him with what she hoped were bedroom eyes. Truth be told, Ben Solo--despite his completely batshit views on what made a penis desirable--was a snack and a half. And despite how weird this whole… _ situation _ with him had started out, she kind of hoped they’d be fucking in her bedroom once this dumb demonstration was over.

Ben looked down at her, blinking, trying hard to process what she was telling him.

“You… like to give donut blowjobs?”

She nodded vigorously. In reality, while Rey had always loved a good donut, she’d never much considered combining the act of eating donuts with the act of eating dick. But if telling him yes right now could get him to stop taping fucking  _ pennies _ to himself and start using his dick in far more productive ways she was fine with the little white lie.

“Definitely,” she cooed.

Ben swallowed thickly.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

* * *

That night, when he got back to his apartment, Ben tossed his pennies into the tzedakah box in an attempt to forgive his parents.

  
  



End file.
